Fang Banger
by Reptilian Muse
Summary: Legend has it, vampires have the ability to enslave humans and turn them into ghouls. Though, for Nola, it might just be the drugs. Chapter 12 updated.
1. Creature

Wow, been a long time since I've posted anything. Terribly sorry for the delay and for not continuing the Star story. Just not feeling inspired to write about her, for some reason. So here's a fun little side story that will take place during the movie sequence. Not sure if I plan to tie it into the series, but we'll see where it goes and how far I decide to take it. Reviews appreciated!

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**Disclaimer: I do not own the Lost Boys.**

It's the music that gets to you.

The cheery, merry-go-round melody, the smoke machines and the idle victims holding the multicolored reigns of their chosen beasts: wild-horses, polar bears, tigers and lions and all other manner of animalistic horror that can make a person, particularly one whose been ganja-smoking nonstop for the past three hours, nervous.

Not that I was un-use to this feeling---no, no… don't get me wrong.

I'd been here many times before, in the exact same place I was now: sitting in the dull, plastic confines of this carousal, joint curled in the fingers of my right hand while my left was captive in the mouth of the vampire that sat next to me and one of the flunkies he'd decided to drag along. The girl was dropping acid or some heavy shit, her eyes held the brightness of a forty-watt bulb and she hardly reacted to the sight of her supposed "boyfriend" taking the blood of some lowly junkie that had crawled into the seat next to them.

I could only imagine what the night had in store for her, after they'd leave the safety of the brightly illuminated boardwalk.

Not that I could care at this point. Life had become something of a dream over the past few months and as the nights of serving grew more and more frequent, I began, as all ghouls, to question my own sanity.

One continuous trip; nights spent in peril at the fangs of this vampire, stoned and wondering if this was going to be my last time. My last wave of euphoric oblivion that would be drained directly from my veins and into the blood-hungry stoner who kept me in good supply of this shit.

And enough fear to keep me addicted to it.

"Fuuuuuck," low, guttural groan as his mouth released my wrist, leaving two messy holes seeping blood all over my scarf.

I took one last hit of the joint before setting it out against the armrest and flicking the roach over the side of the car. I learned quickly that keeping them was ridiculous: Paul's stash never ran out.

"That's some good shit, man… good fucking shit…" growled out softly as the blood was lazily licked from his lips.

I stared at the wounds in my wrist, wondering how long it would take before I would start to feel the pain and if it would be enough to bring me down from this twisted high. Not to mention, how many minutes of bugging Paul it would take before he remembered to clean the wound. Vampire spit isn't as powerful as people claim it is. It can't heal injuries but it can ensure that they don't get infected or that a person would bleed to death. It was a useful thing in the beginning, but now, unfortunately, the side-effects of my body constantly in taking vampire DNA through Paul's blotched lickings, was starting to take their toll.

I was as pale as he was, shunning the light of the sun and spending my days sleeping until three in the afternoon, after which I would toke immediately upon waking and stay in a strange, mumbling stupor until I was called out to the night and forced to crawl that much higher up on the tower, supporting Paul's habit as well as doing the vampire's idiotic bidding.

The life of a ghoul or whatever they were calling their fang-banger thralls these days.

"You gotta…" I started, growing suddenly distracted by the lights and the woman with red hair looking over at me from across the dancing bears.

"…Gotta… um…"

Why was she staring? Did she suspect something?

Not that I was worried in the slightest about being caught smoking weed on the carousal. Paul's inhuman charm distracted the locals and his fangs took care of any police enforcement that had tried to chase us away before.

Still, there was something inside of me that was on edge. Something that wanted to hide the terrible fact that I was a slave to monsters that should have only existed in bad Hollywood movies and legend. It was the reason why my wrists were constantly wrapped up in bandanas, why my neck was always hidden beneath a scarf. Hiding the scabbed over bite-marks and bruises that hadn't quite healed and never truly would.

Even the ones that had scarred still carried an edge to them; a sensation that if brushed over in the slightest would cause a sudden flush of excitement and unnatural energy. Nervousness, maybe.

"… What was I saying?" I asked, still holding my bleeding wrist and staring at it without a spark of rational thought in my mind.

Paranoia was starting to creep up.

Paul looked up, his eyes half-lidded with a grin stretching slowly across his face.

It was going to be a bad night.

"Look, can you just clean me so I can get the hell out of here? I hate this place, gives me the fucking creeps. I feel that like, at any moment, one of David Bowie's goblins is going to pop up and start singing Magic Dance to me."

He laughed, forgetting that both fangs were still extended.

"Paul!"

The bark was enough to snap the creature from his delusions of dancing puppets and possibly reaching over to take another large chunk out of my arm. All too quickly, all three of us were staring into the razor-like eyes of his "blood brother," David.

Out of all the vampires, I felt a strange combination of hatred, fear and loyalty to David.

Paul was the undertaker, but he was not the executor. He submitted to David as his leader and if the man wanted me gone, the creature would have no choice but to get me shit-faced stoned out of my mind before destroying me entirely.

His gaze tore quickly from Paul, to me sitting on his left and the acid girl that sat catatonic on his right. I tried to become absorbed in something---anything. My sneakers, crouching together in a fearful pile that would inevitably fail if I tried to spring up and jump out of the plastic cart, avoiding David and his subtle cruelties. Those painfully damning, blue eyes.

Paul didn't seem to sense the danger as he leaned back as though to get a better look at his brother and smiled that toothy grin.

"David, chill out. We're just having a little fun, right Nola?"

I didn't answer. My voice was caught somewhere between a smokers cough and the fear that if I tried to say something, nothing but screams would come out.

"Nola? ...Fuck dude, she's stoned hardcore. You should try her," Paul laughed while I tried to summon the power of telepathy and send him every vile name and curse I could think of.

For a moment, I could feel those eyes on me.

"Nola.."

Just ignore him. Pretend to be possessed by the Devil. Nothing behind your eyes but shades of blue and the shadows of the human girl that use to be there. Not the dirty, unwashed _thing _that was cowering behind the billows of smoke and annoying music.

"Nola.."

Was he saying my name? Or just thinking it? I felt my heart quicken inside my chest, hearing David's voice so close to my ears that blood was starting to rush up to them, creating a white barrier of noise that made it all but impossible to think.

"Nola, look at me."

It was a trick. My eyes remained stuck to the curve of my sneaker, tracing it back and forth…

… back and forth…

..ignoring the sudden fire that seemed to burst inside my veins, raging like hot shards of lead beneath the skin.

I clenched my teeth as my body began to shake. What the hell had I ever done to him?

"NOLA!"

My heart stopped.

I looked up.

I was met with the stare I'd seen many times before, gazing out from a cocksure face that was barely in it's early twenties, the same as his brothers but with a heightened sense of arrogance and brooding that only made him more desirable and infuriating at the same time.

It's weird to feel hatred, pure, psychotropic rage and anger towards something, yet still desire them at the same time. He'd dangled my life in front of my eyes many times before and each time I came out lower and more detached from any sense of human morality I had to begin with. I'd watched him kill random strangers, my so-called friends and people I thought I cared about and that had cared for me, as well. To him, I wasn't much higher than the sand that was caught in the groove of his motorcycle tires.

I was a thrall, pure and simple. A slave to be used, abused, drained slowly and disposed of when the time was right.

I expected him to lash out, to take my bleeding wrist up to pale, icy lips and tear into the exposed wound. Or to insult me, insult Paul and threaten to rip both our spines from our backs. But he did neither.

Instead, I was met with the grave stare that reminded me somewhat of a maimed dog or a child that had just received a beating from daddy's belt.

There would be no games tonight.

_Get lost, creature!_

The words were sent like a slap to my mind with enough force causing me to jump slightly and stumble immediately to my feet. After a few feeble steps, I managed to gain my balance and shuffling like a skittish animal past David, I dashed from the carousal and the haunting sound of wings that were flapping overhead.


	2. The frog experience

11:20 p.m.

Too early to crawl back into the stinking pit that was my apartment: the basement of a crumbling house whose foundation had sunk a good foot in the last two years with nothing but cement walls that had been riddle with spray paint and the remains of sixties rock posters, a dusty cot and a couch that smelled vaguely of cat piss and ash from years of ingesting cigarette butts between it's moldy cushions. The owners were dope-fiends themselves---Darren and Debbie. Addicts from the seventies, they enjoyed smoking weed on Mondays, shooting smack on Tuesdays, tripping with shrooms on Wednesday, taking Thursday to heal and Friday on through Sunday in the grip of acid and speed.

I couldn't count the number of times I'd waken with bent needles sticking halfway out of my arm and the sticky sweet euphoria that came with each prick. Any decent human being would be pissed but I simply shrugged away such carelessness, just as I had my entire life since running into Paul.

I won't say it was entirely his fault for my current situation.

The year had been an extraordinarily bad one for me and weed---the good shit, I mean---allowed for temporary escape from my problems.

But it wasn't enough.

I wanted more. I wanted to jump off the pier and drown in the black, salty waves below. I wanted to commit suicide, but I lacked any sort of guts to do it.

So I started toying with death. Started playing the druggies game of going to all the bad parties, meeting all the wrong people and now, it was eleven at night and I was stoned off my ass; cold, hungry and dodging several looks that followed me as I fought my way down the boardwalk and into the harsher side of town.

Every so often, I would catch my reflection and feel a sick sense of satisfaction as I stared into the dull, dim eyes of a girl that I had once known quite well.

She use to be tan with well-rounded curves and beautiful green eyes that stared out from striking white bangs. The hair hadn't changed, though, one night in a fit of rage, I had taken a pair of dull scissors and cropped it all in uneven pieces that now stuck out from every angle on my head. Had I known such a thing would be trendy these days, I might have simply shaved it to my scalp and gone for the nazi-surfer look.

My body however, had taken the form of a skinny crackwhore; bruises and bite marks lined my arms and neck while cheeks were somewhat sunken and lips were chapped and bloody. I had a bad habit of biting them when I got nervous.

Who was this girl? Why did she seem to know my name when I stood and looked at her in the metallic surface of the passing cars, the smooth, still waters of the bathtub or in the cloudy, cracked surface of a mirror?

Why was she always shivering though it was still a good seventy degrees outside? Didn't she have enough blood to keep her warm?

I kept moving.

It was easy to forget what I looked like, once the image was taken away from my eyes and I was left to stare out at the world through a fogged tunnel of bleak understanding.

Whatever. I was too fucking stoned, right now.

"GET BACK HERE, YOU BASTARDS!"

By the time I managed to hear the words and turn, somewhat expecting them to have been shouted at me, I was knocked completely to the ground by a swarm of sweaty bodies.

"Fuck!" I managed before the boots of one slammed me in the stomach and knocked the wind from my chest.

Just stay down. Don't try to get up or protect anything but your head.

The pounding continued and I winched, trying desperately to hide my face as they ran past, a few more stepping on my hands and legs as they dodged their chasers…

… two kids no older than maybe fourteen or fifteen, one wearing a green, industrial jumpsuit while the other sported a bandana and a shirt with some brand of macho-garbage I couldn't identify.

The one in the jumpsuit continued after the crowd while bandana boy stopped at my side.

"Oh shit…" he gasped as he reached down, trying to grasp my trembling hand and help me back up to my feet.

"Bunch of assholes, they stole some of our product and we were just trying to get it back."

"Don't worry about it," I croaked, taking the sweaty palm and dragging myself back to my feet. There was no use in getting angry.

"Yea, man. This is like, the third time it's happened in a week and we just wanted to… to.."

I waited for him to finish, but the kid suddenly seemed stunned.

His eyes widened and mouth hung open, stopped in mid-sentence as he stared at me. For a moment, I thought he must have smelled the pot on me. And if that was the case then he was either seriously feigning or the son of a cop or something.

But the shocked expression wouldn't lift and looking down, I noticed that my scarf had unraveled in the rush and fallen to the ground.

"Shit!" I muttered, reaching up to cover my neck while at the same time, grabbing up my scarf. Even _I_ had to admit my neck was a pretty horrific sight.

I expected him to ask what happened, or to stay quiet and assume that I was some low-life junkie that had gotten into a bad drug deal.

"You're a ghoul!" he exclaimed.

I didn't expect that.

My heart stopped for a second time that night and my gaze swept around the boardwalk, casting upon the eyes of several pedestrians that had heard him. One of which was the jumpsuit kid that had been staggering up behind me, holding a half-torn comic in his hand and an expression of the same, shocked seriousness as his partner.

Quickly, I wrapped the scarf up around my neck.

"Who the fuck taught you that word?" I hissed beneath my breath.

In an instant, my high was gone and my heart was beating wildly in my chest. How the hell did this punk know what I was? And furthermore, why was he suddenly staring at me with the same gaze that Paul held, right before he took a bite out of my flesh.


	3. Badly Dressed Savior

I had to give the little shits credit. While being unable to catch a mob of buzz-cut, yet highly colorful gang of surf-nazis, they had no trouble at all chasing down and tackling a debilitated stoner who'd lost a good portion of blood as well as sanity, earlier in the night.

I wanted nothing more than Paul or even David to drop down from the sky upon them and rip their pre-pubescent bodies to shreds. Unfortunately, whatever plans the boys had this evening, they obviously didn't include hanging around the Boardwalk, as they usually did.

I made it a good block and a half before they caught me. The scene must have been something between hilarious and sad as the kid in the jumpsuit made a daring leap over the garbage cans, only managing to hit the recyclables and sending a dozen or so glass bottles shattering to the ground. His arms shot out, catching a banner and me across the throat.

It was the kind of fall that a person only sees in comedies and in the WWF: a perfect "clothes-line" that had me on my back before I really realized what had happened and staring dazed, up into the faces of those two greasy boys.

"Did you knock her out?" the one in the bandana asked.

"All the better if I did," the jumpsuit said, out of breath. "Grab her feet."

The world was spinning around me. I felt like throwing up.

"You little fucks… touch me… and I swear to God…" I gasped, kicking my feet out and trying to struggle against their groping hands.

We struggled for a moment; my feet kicking out and body becoming rigid as I tried desperately to regain my sense of balance while their fingers gouged and tried to get a better grip on my body. Two adolescent vampire-slayers attempting a kidnapping of a less-than-accommodating, stoner thrall. What a pathetic sight.

"Hey!"

The voice was sharp, belonging to the man that had been hanging up the banner outside his store. Of what I could see of him, he appeared to be the typical Santa Carla refugee---albeit with a touch more color and bizarreness to the clothing he wore. A man in his mid-thirties with blondish hair, a smooth yet strangely gaunt face and bright eyes that seemed somewhat to reflect the glowing, neon-lights that illuminated the store. He was every bit your typical, high-end white trash.

At least, until you saw his outfit.

I have no idea what clothing factory he happened to be shopping at when it exploded, but I can only hope that he was one of the few survivors. Whoever told him that checkerboard jackets went with pale pink undershirt and swank, white pants must have been having seizures at the time.

But there was something else… something hidden behind those large, obtrusive glasses and glimmering eyes. I can't say for sure why I felt uneasy with him staring at us. Then again, it might have possibly been the fact that two teenage punks on either side of my body had lifted me two feet of the ground.

They didn't seem to sense the strangeness in his eyes or in the colorfully violent clothing that he wore. Their hands only gripped me tighter while faces remained hardened masks of forced seriousness. I could feel the trembles starting in the jumpsuit's hands.

They obviously weren't about to let me go, though carrying a girl through the streets would undoubtedly cause unwanted attention.

"I think you boys better put her down. Now."

Weird or not, I was thankful for the man's curt orders.

After a moment of hesitation and a sour look passed between them, the bandana let go of my legs while the jumpsuit released my arms. Stumbling on pins and needles feet, I managed to regain my balance and nod my silent thanks to the man.

Already my throat was beginning to throb and I could just imagine the bruise I would discover tomorrow upon waking. Depression began to seep back in though this time it was followed by an intense anger. How the hell could these little bastards know what I was? And of course, knowing that I was a thrall meant that they also knew about the vampires that lived here. Not enough to go out and actually stake them, but enough to chase me down and make my life a living hell.

"You're dead," I mouthed, half-meaning it. While growing use to the sight of dead, drained corpses, I wasn't far enough gone that I would actually tell Paul or David what had happened tonight and send these two to an early grave. Not if I could help it, anyway.

The jumpsuit kid visibly tensed though his companion seemed to be made of a sterner mindset. He merely glared without speaking.

"I think you both better leave her alone," the man said. His voice had softened somewhat, though still held a sharp note of anger.

Glancing over at him, I could see why.

His banner "Two-For-One Tuesdays!" had been torn in half.

Exchanging crest-fallen looks, they turned and started back down the way they came, pushing through the miniature crowd of onlookers that had stopped, expecting a better show. It was only the bandana kid who turned to look back at me and give that same look as before: a carnivorous glare that promised to be slaked later.

I wasn't worried.

I could take alternative routes back to my apartment or, if I really wanted to fuck with them, I would lead them both back to the cave and introduce them to the creatures they were trying to slay.

"You okay?"

His voice made me jump. Turning halfway, I avoided looking right into his eyes, more out of habit than anything else.

"Stupid little punks!" I spat.

His smile was forced and somewhat confused. Thinking quickly, I shrugged my shoulders, acting as exasperated as I could.

"They think I stole one of their comics---like they do everyone else that enters their store."

Again I shrugged and looking more comfortable, the man nodded and sighed.

"Like everyone else in this town, I suppose. Always looking for someone to blame for their problems," he said, glancing at his ruined banner before eyes wandered to the window and inside. Curious, I glanced around him and followed his gaze to the woman that was inside.

She was middle-aged, like him, though with a greater sense of style and a very pretty face. Very motherly and kind.

A rare find these days.

Looking back, I found him watching me and quickly looked away. I couldn't put my finger on why he made me uncomfortable and yet… drew me in at the same time.

"Well, thanks," I said, turning away and starting back down the way we'd run.

"If those boys continue to give you anymore trouble, you just let me know, okay?" his voice seemed to follow me.

Looking back, I managed an actual smile and nod.


	4. Mutiny

"You know something? Max may be a prick and full of himself but you David are nothing more than a goddamned hypocrite!"

David was taken aback. Paul's disgust was so thick and venomous from the moment they left their Master's house, that it had done nothing short of slap him physically across the face. It was a bold move for the young one to let his distastes show, but with only a hour left before sunrise and perhaps, a measure of his own guilt, the fledgling had the upper hand.

David tried to act as though he had no idea what Paul was talking about.

"What do you mean?" asked coolly while eyes tried desperately to seek out the aid of Marko or Dwayne.

Neither were anywhere in sight, leaving their Sire to rightfully deal with the little upstart.

"What do I mean? _What do I mean?_" Paul was close to becoming feral as he stood, hands tensing into vicious claws while fangs began to bare and eyes glimmered in the light.

It was the classic (though in their case, not so normal) symptoms of the youngest in a family getting jealous over the possibility of adding two more rivals.

Michael and his younger brother Sidney.

Or Sammy---whatever the hell his name was.

They were all outraged at the idea, though Paul, for some unknown reason, was especially upset. It might have something to do with the fact that the man hadn't gotten to feed this evening and the swift, brutal punishment delivered in warning by Max to everyone in the gang when objections were raised, left him feeling weak and somewhat cornered.

It had torn into his psyche and left the fledgling angry and wanting to get back at someone or something. And unfortunately, David was the only one in the room to face the wrath.

He tried to make his voice and presence as calming as possible. He may have been close to six-hundred years Paul's senior, but the kid's rage gave him an edge to his strength and stamina. Dawn was closing in and Paul didn't even look tired.

"That's what I asked Paul, what are you even talking about?"

"Oh, I don't know David, the fact that you agreed to help Max and initiate two preppy little assholes into this gang without even a second thought. And yet, I happen to remember that it took me fixing your goddamned bike and sucking up to your ass for three whole months before you even considered taking me in."

Again, the words were poisoned with sarcasm and anger that seemed to flush out of ever pore in Paul's body. David and everyone else kept forgetting; beneath the goofy antics of this undead stoner, lied a creature that hunted, spilled blood and was every bit the vicious killer that he was brought up to be.

Just because he kept a string of nightly girlfriends and thralls, didn't mean the man shied away from the warm-blooded rush of the fresh kill.

David crossed his arms. This little triad had gone on long enough.

"And what was I suppose to say, Paul? 'No thanks Max, I already have more than I can handle?' How the hell does this make me a hypocrite for siding with a creature that would have me destroyed if I did otherwise?"

Instead of taking away from the young one's rage, his words only added a fresh layer to the growing fire inside.

"The fact that you even agreed to it in the first place, makes you a hypocrite! You don't want to bring these little fuckers into the gang anymore than the rest of us and yet you continue to bend over and let Max stick his authority in your ass. In all of our asses," Paul spat.

Now, David was getting angry.

"What the hell am I suppose to do Paul? Challenge him to a fight over Mastery?"

The words hung in the air like fresh blood. Candles flickered and the waves crashed violently against the side of the cliffs, as though lapping up the tension that had suddenly blossomed at the prospect of David taking control of Santa Carla.

Paul's anger may have been irrational and totally self-absorbed, but it wasn't without a whisper of truth to what they were all thinking. David angrily turned away.

"Don't even think about it—"

"You could take him, David! You know you could---"

"And do what, Paul? Max may be a bastard but he's also a very powerful Master and if the others realize he's gone, they'll start showing up from all corners of the globe to take away his territory from me. That and…"

The words died and the candles gutted. With the sun so close, David's powers were dwindling and Paul could easily read his mind.

"And what? The fact that he's your Sire? C'mon David, you've hated him from the moment you came into this existence," Paul stated, arms crossed and body returning more and more to its human stature.

"That's not the point!" David snapped. "The point is Max has a thousand, maybe two-thousand years on me. I'd never be able to take him in one-on-one combat. It isn't a fair fight."

Paul scoffed. "Geez, David, since when did you start basing your morals on the assumption that life itself was fair? Don't you ever watch the History Channel?"

David sighed. Paul had taken to a new habit of stealing away in mortal houses and, after ripping off their heads and getting stoned, would watch, of all things, the History Channel.

"How does anyone in this world get power, David? They cheat! They lie, they manipulate! Fuck, Max did it to gain this territory, why can't you do it to take it away from him?"

David's eyes narrowed. "How the hell do you know about Max getting this territory?"

Paul smiled crookedly. "How do you think? I cheated, I lied and I manipulated."

David opened his mouth but suddenly found himself baffled. By sheer cunning, Paul had backed him into a corner that even _he_ was having difficulty pulling himself out of. Maybe it was the fact that he was the youngest of the gang, or had gone this night without blood and was feeling the urge to stir things up; Paul had hit a definite nerve.

And in some ways, he was very much right.

Why didn't David manipulate, lie and cheat his way to the top? Why didn't he trick Max into certain destruction and take the territory for himself? With the new additions to the gang (granted they survived long enough to make it through their first kill), they would be a rather large force to be reckoned with. And who the hell would want Santa Carla to begin with?

Paul, satisfied in making his Sire's head spin with the fresh idea's of mutiny and blasphemous bloodshed, sauntered his way towards the back of the cave, finally feeling the sun's draining sting.

David watched cautiously. "You really think we could outsmart Max?"

Without stopping, Paul swiveled back just long enough to toss a gleaming object up in the air. David caught it without effort and stared with a bemused expression that bordered on shock.

It was a pocket watch.

Max's pocket watch. The etchings of the occult were unmistakable and the tiny, gold hands indicated it was a quarter to five.

As long as David could remember, Max had carried this watch with him through the centuries, decapitating all manner of pick-pockets and thieves that had tried to steal it.

And of all the creatures in this world, Paul, an undead stoner, had managed to steal it.


	5. When you smoke too much weed

**Note: This isn't the beginning of a cross-over. I've just always wanted to do a scene like this in one of my fictions. Hellraiser fans unite!!**

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_Oh, the suffering… the sweet, sweet suffering._

The voice use to send chills through my spine. _Hellraiser 2: Hellbound heart_. I don't' know which junkie, Darren or Debbie, had rented the movie and had it playing when I rose, but despite the grotesqueness of the storyline and characters, it allowed a sense of comfort to fill me.

Pinhead be damned---he hadn't met the Lost Boys.

Giving a ragged sigh, I managed to pull myself up from the musty smelling floor, glancing around for either junkie and finding only Darren on the couch. It was my apartment, but their house and like intrusive guests they came in without knocking.

Not that I wanted them to, by any means.

After taking an extended and highly confusing way back to the house, I sat within the dark confines of the basement and shook from a combination of fear, rage and ultimately, depression.

So the little punks knew what I was. So what?

I wasn't the first thrall who had been used as a means for a vampire to keep a drug habit and I likely wasn't going to be the last. What made us unique was the strange sense of self-sacrifice. Our lives hadn't worked out (hence the drugs in the first place) and if placated by an on-going stream of addictive substances, even as meager as pot, was enough to get us through each night before insanity began to set in.

I knew all of this, of course, because of the link I carried with Paul.

As with each thrall, the vampire feeds from them often enough to establish a kind of connection. Don't ask me what it is or how it works. Or even if I can control it, because I can't. Basically, Paul's memories and dreams and of course his calls for me, were sent through this hardwire inside my head and I was able to see many of those that served before me and ultimately met with their own demise.

Jake was the very first.

A heroin user turned pot-head by Paul and some serious bleeding. The man was unstable to begin with, loosing both wife and child in an accident and unwilling to face the world and its endless array of sympathy and pitiful remarks. He took to the needle before being persuaded otherwise and began feeding Paul's addiction like a true addict himself.

The trouble started with the hallucinations.

Innocently enough at first, he would stare for hours on end at the pictures of his daughter, his wife. Sometimes he could hear their laughter in the walls. Sometimes the pitter-patter of little feet would wake him from a weed-induced daze that had him staring at the ceiling in silent disbelief for how high he was. At first he brushed off such occurrences as nothing more than his own desires to see them.

At least... not until the first incident.

The problem with visions is that there's never any back-story. One doesn't know what they're seeing until its already passed and the more loud and violent the memory, the clearer you can see them.

His hallucinations became my own.

One in particular was of his wife, in all her beauty and dramatically enhanced splendor, lying spread-eagle on the bed while a horned and black-winged demon (strangely resembling Marko) thrust himself on top of her moaning body. Jake's ears bled from the sounds. He tore at his hair, at the room itself and at his wife who, while laughing in a high-pitched, maniacal sound, began to rot before his very eyes.

Waking in a pool of tears and his own blood, it had been the beginning of the end for Jake as the visions and creeping demons got more and more vivid with each passing night.

And unfortunately, he wasn't the only thrall to ever experience them.

The music had turned sinister as the main character, Kirsty, began to freak.

It was understandable.

Cenobites, your father missing his skin, Clare Higgins in a dress that was obviously made for a young woman with a nicer rack---I could see why she was upset.

The creepy monologue and music continued as she recounted the details of her night spent in Hell. Sighing, I sat up more fully and turned away from the glowing box of demons and tortured memories. It was only one in the afternoon. A few more hours before the sun would set and depending on what mood Paul would wake up in would depend on how I spent my evening.

Glancing over at Darren, the man's eyes had rolled back into his head and mouth was parted with drool leaking at the corners of his lips. He and Debbie weren't my friends, not by a long shot. But taking an evening off from the usual chaos of vampires and the boardwalk had a growing appeal and I quietly wondered if they would allow me to chill with them up in the sanctity of the house, watching bad horror flicks while they shot up and I got drunk.

I hadn't had a drink in forever.

Thinking about it made me have to go to the bathroom and like the creeping shadows in the movie, I stood up and began to creep my way across the floor towards the musty bathroom with yellow walls and piss lining the toilet seat.

Maybe whatever took place between Paul and David would give me a break for awhile. Or maybe it would seal my own demise. Groggily I thought about this and debated whether or not it would be a good idea to fall back asleep for a few more hours until sunset. It wasn't until I was standing up, looking into the cracked and blotted mirror that I saw him move.

A simple step out of my line of vision from the mirror and into the living room, leaving the hairs to rise up on the back of my neck and the music that poured out from the movie to rattle inside my head.

No...

No. It was Darren. Or a passing cloud over the sky that caused the sun to shift as it filtered through the dirty windows of the basement. Nothing more.

Legs turned to jelly as I turned around and inched my way towards the door, peering out from around the corner to take in the sight of...

No.

No, No, No, NO, NO, NO!

It wasn't possible. The movie was still playing, the images of Kirsty turning over to the hellish scenes of the hospital basement where all the insane rejects were kept like lab rats in cages for a sickening amusement, made to be enjoyed and horrified by all.

His scene wasn't even until later in the movie, so what in the HELL was Pinhead doing in my apartment, standing close by Darren who was suddenly wide awake and choking on his own blood as chain with the classic, fish-hook tip, gouged directly through his throat?

"This is a dream..." I gasped.

It had to be. There was no other explanation---

"Is it, Nola?"

His voice was just as cold and darkly fascinating as it was in the movie, sending chills all the way down my spine. My legs began to shake.

"It... it has to be... you're not..."

"Real?" he finished for me.

The best I could manage was nod, sending him into the classic fit of laughter that ended in Darren getting another chain (that somehow shot down from the ceiling and unknown regions) through the chest. Blood gushed up in rivers now and his eyes were as wide as dinner plates, yet somehow unable to grasp the horror that was around him.

It was probably due to the heroin.

"Stop..." I breathed out, shaking my head and trying to fight my way through his laughter. "STOP IT!"

The cryptic sound died but a smile remained on his face.

"Oh Nola, why so frightened? Why so resistant to the inevitable?" he asked, almost pleasantly.

I was trembling. The only defense I seemed capable of was keeping my eyes diverted and repeating over and over in my head that he wasn't real. Nothing in this experience was real. I had blacked out in the bathroom and would soon wake up on the cool surface of the tiled floor with my pants around my ankles and a puddle of drool surrounding my head.

He seemed to sense my defiance and with only a split-second warning of the chains rattling from unknown places, I suddenly found one imbedded directly in my hand.

The pain came as a surprise.

"JESUS FUCKING CHRIST!" I screamed, holding my hand in horror while staring at the hook that was imbedded in the flesh of the palm.

"Now, now child, let's not be inappropriate. We both know you don't believe in God," he said softly, taking small, deliberate steps in my direction.

The smile was gone and replaced with a look of evil that I can't even begin to describe without wanting to throw up.

His voice sank below the freezing sub-zero levels of Hell. "I can change that..."

Blood was pouring from the wound in my hand as I reached up to gently tug at the chain and was rewarded by a rush of agony as it jerked and lifted my arm upwards in a sharp angle. The flesh of my palm began to tear and the sound of my own wailing ripped through the walls and caused another shameless bout of laughter from Pinhead as he continued to walk forward with an easy grace.

"Let me go! Please... fuck... let me---"

"Oh, why so eager to leave the game so soon? You didn't seem nearly as eager to save your own life from those you serve in the night."

I couldn't think or breathe or even begin to understand what he was talking about. My eyes were open, taking in each and every detail of his body while the pain ripped through my arm that was starting to stretch upwards due to the coiling chain.

Stopping momentarily in his step, the creature gazed at the television and seemed to smirk.

"You humans with your movies and primitive imaginations," he said, gazing a moment longer before turning back to look at me.

"I can show you such horrors that your mind would never be able to comprehend. You would feel such things that go beyond agony and ecstasy. Beyond simple _fear_."

The chain continued to rise and it was only after hearing a sickening pop in my shoulder that I realized it wasn't going to stop. Clamping down on my arm, I struggled to keep it from moving. To keep the limb from tearing out of its socket as the blood continued to gush and slick my chest and stomach.

The television was alive with blood, guts and gore, though I could tell the sudden "SNAP" wasn't from Kirsty's nightmares or any Hollywood dramatized scene.

The chain wouldn't let up. My arm was out of its socket and continuing to lift upwards as I swung helplessly and sobbed, spitting up blood and tears as the tear in my palm grew deeper and the skin around my shoulder began to stretch.

"Please..." I wailed.

"Oh now... we haven't even begun to explore your body..." he spoke so softly.

"...to explore your flesh..."

The chain suddenly jerked upwards, dislodging my arm from my body and causing a sound that should never come out of any human mouth.

It was this sound that shook me from the nightmare. A sound that had Darren up from his stupor and looming over me as I fought with the shower curtain and toppled down in a heap upon the floor.

"NOLA! Mother of Christ---NOLA! It's me! It's me!" he shouted, his arms around my shoulders, struggling to keep me from flailing.

The world came back into view. My arm wasn't dangling from some miscellaneous chain. There were no pools of blood on the dirty bathroom floor and Darren wasn't a castrated corpse upon the couch.

"Pinhead! He was here and I was---"

"Nola, what the fuck are you talking about?!"

His arms tightened and after a few moments of delirious psychosis, I slumped down in his embrace.

So real... it had been... so real.

"Jesus... did you take a fucking shitload of acid or something?" Darren asked, his face pale and eyes worried.

I couldn't form a response.

It wasn't until my heart slowed and the rush left my body that I began to feel the tickle inside my ears. Reaching up, I brushed my fingertip inside the warm, sticky crevice, scratching lightly before pulling my hand away in horror and disgust.

My ears were bleeding.


	6. Vampires Everywhere

_Vampires Everywhere_, issue # 6: Servants to the Undead.

The pictures were grossly dramatic and cartoonish, showing vampires lying in coffins while hunch-back, perverted old men stood guard near by with lanterns and a glazed look in their eyes.

They were suppose to be Ghouls.

Scoffing in disgust, I shook my head and turned the page. Nothing could be further from the truth, as far as the Lost Boys were concerned. They didn't have any need for old, gray-haired, graveyard workers that were already badly damaged in the sanity department. As far as I knew, I'd never even seen them with anyone older than about thirty.

The store was musty smelling and somewhat disorganized with several boxes of comics lying open in each corner of the room. Light filtered through the dirty windows, showing off the dust that had collected on the racks, the walls and strings of comics that hung like tangled spider webs from the ceiling.

For some reason, they reminded me of chains and I went out of my way to avoid hitting any of them.

The little punks were gone. Out to lunch, or so said from the dazed woman who sat at the cash register, keeping a fan trained on herself and one eye on the television that glowed from the corner. I kept my distance from that, as well.

To her right, a man with a lined face and tangled locks of hair sat sleeping with his arms crossed over his chest and shades drawn down over crinkled eyes. He smelled like pot and something that had gone bad.

It was now three and after my near mental breakdown, I had decided that some time spent in the sun would do me some good. I hadn't intended on finding the comic bookstore, though from the second I saw it, I knew it was where the punks worked.

My body had tensed to run again, but there was no sight of the jumpsuit or bandana boy anywhere. After several moments of stalling and trying to talk myself out of it, I finally surrendered to temptation and stepped inside.

Summer was coming to a close and despite the cool breezes that came in off the ocean, the inside of the shop was like an oven.

No wonder the comics were in such shitty condition.

After standing for a few minutes in silent shock at what I was doing, I managed to stuff my hands in my pockets and shuffle my feet towards the nearest stand of colorful super hero's in tight, muscle-bulging spandex. Everything from Batman to Archie, all somewhat organized into categories, though if you were looking for specific issue numbers, you'd have to search for quite a while.

My gazes jumped from Superman # 43 to Batman # 97.

I couldn't understand it.

How could these punks know what I was? Where did they get their information? Obviously, they weren't ghouls themselves or we'd have a silent understanding between each other, never to speak or to meet eyes, lest the guilt from our shut-in lives show.

But if they weren't ghouls themselves…

My gaze shifted to the next rack and was instantly taken by the squiggly, blood-infused words that read: Vampires Everywhere.

Too easy.

Far too easy.

I ignored the comics, looking away at some of the more expensive Batman issues that were suspended upon the lines and tacked to the walls like trophies with price tags. One was worth nearly five-hundred dollars while the others ranged from twenty to a hundred bucks.

My gaze shifted back.

"Give me a break," I mumbled, picking up the comic book and flipping through the pages as though I didn't really want to see what was on them.

The pictures were moronic, poorly drawn and outlandish… but that wasn't the problem. The problem was that all the information, carefully arranged in cartoon bubbles and the same squiggly mess that had been on the cover, was true.

Absolutely true.

_Ghouls: servants, sometimes known as Thralls to the vampires, they are often used as a more permanent means of feeding and performing tasks for the bloodsuckers while they sleep during the day_.

Well, anyone could make that assumption.

_Depending on the vampire, ghouls can be any age, any gender from any background or culture of life that suit's the vampire's own personal needs. Again, feeding and other tasks, even sexual, are often demanded from the ghouls that serve their night-time masters. _

Again, it was vague but true.

_Ghouls are highly dangerous. Once entering the darkness, there is very little chance of convincing them to betray the vampires they serve. Some suspect that this is due to the connection they share between the ones that feed from them or perhaps their own, demented desires to become vampires themselves or to simply die when their Master's tire of them._

My fingers tweezed tighter, the images of the comic starting to blur as I struggled to keep my eyes locked to it. The words bit into my flesh, grinding slowly with methodical movements that, like the chain I believed had held my arm suspended above my head, began to tear me to pieces.

_To use the aid of a Ghoul in one's search for vampires is strongly cautioned against. Nevertheless, the best time to intercept them is during a period of madness when reality, from their perspective, begins to blur and they are subject to vivid visions of infinite possibilities. This is often due to extreme blood loss in extended periods of time as well as interaction with the vampires themselves. To gain information, one must integrate themselves into these visions and persuade by means of seduction, fear or sympathy. Never doubt for a second that the Ghoul will turn on you the moment they step back into reality._

Again, gritty pictures of an old, gray-haired maniac, screaming in horror as the classic, sheet-wrapped ghost appeared above him and was wailing the unholy words: "I'VE COME FOR YOUR SOUL!"

Christ, no wonder people didn't take this comic seriously and the only ones who did were two teenage punks that, for reasons unknown to anyone, wanted to hunt and slay vampires.

I was trembling all over now. How could such an idiotic thing as a comic book have some of the most vital information about vampires and more importantly, those who served them? Did Paul and the others knew such things existed? And if they did, then what the hell!

A fresh surge of rage began to take the place of my fear and I wanted nothing more than to put my fist through comic book stand, the woman that sat at the front and especially those two punks that had tried to kidnap me the other night.

But more than that, I wanted to put my fist through Paul and all that he was doing to me.

Vague or not, the book was right. I was loosing my mind slowly due to blood loss and being in close proximity with death and the dozen or so corpses I'd seen pile up in a single night's setting.

I had no morals. I had no soul.

You forfeit it instantly when you decide to work for killers.

In a sudden frenzy, I leaned back and kicked the stand as hard as I could. I didn't see the damn thing was on rollers and could only watch in mild frustration and amusement as it went careening back a good four feet before crashing into a nearby wall and spilling half its contents out to the floor.

The racket was enough to alert the woman at the cash register and somewhat awaken her sleeping companion.

"HEY!" she yelled.

But I was already out the door.


	7. Sammy

**Ressurrecting and completing an old story of mine. Reviews are always welcome. **

Sam hated it here.

The kids, the rotting funk that seemed to surround the ocean and the nearby boardwalk, the weirdness of his grandfather and the fact that his brother wouldn't chill for two seconds to give him a ride down to the comic book store where the only two potential friends he might possibly have in the future were a couple of horror-obsessed freaks.

"Could life suck any worse, Nanook?"

The dog answered with a lazy yawn before rolling to his side. Maybe he had the right idea. Sam didn't usually zone out or take naps, but ever since coming to this shitty town, with his mom finding a job so soon and his brother doing odd-jobs on the beach, he was increasingly finding himself alone all the time.

And lonely.

Not that he'd tell anyone this, but it was a drastic change from the life he'd known in Phoenix. There, he'd been popular with a dozen or so friends that would gather in the basement with him, swapping styles, watching MTV and causing all sorts of mayhem while his brother was available to drive them wherever they wanted or take them to watch a game.

Despite the problems between his parents, he and Michael had been close. They were all each other had and life, even in fleeting moments, had been good.

Now his brother felt obligated to contribute where his father hadn't. And that meant that he was no longer available for Sam to hang with or even to really talk to. Every time he had his brother alone, Mike was either busy working out, planning where his next job would be or working on his motorcycle.

He had no time for younger brother anymore.

No one did.

Well, except for Nanook, that is.

A sigh dragged out from his chest and in a sudden fit of frustration, he jerked up from his seat, stomping his way through the kitchen and out the back door.

It was a nice day out and despite the fact that his bike had a flat tire, he was determined to walk his way into Santa Carla and find Mike. Maybe he could help with whatever his brother was doing, or at least guilt him enough into coming with Sam into the comic book store. Maybe the freaks wouldn't be there today.

Then again, a part of him hoped that they would.

They may not have been the sane, but at least they talked to him.

The road was dusty, long and hot. It was from being so far from the ocean, his grandfather had said with a smile. The old man never liked the ocean, not after almost drowning as a boy at age twelve. Though, when asked why he had decided to stay in Santa Carla, he would get a strange, almost glazed look to his eyes and shake his head, promising to tell Sam when he was older.

Sam kicked a miscellaneous rock from his path.

The old man couldn't get much weirder.

It was the smoke that first alerted him as he passed through the outline of trees that curved into a miniature forest, a mile or so from town. It was black and pungent, the kind that was created through the use of chemicals, alcohol or maybe some kind of sickening hairspray.

Nose crinkled and eyes almost watered as the wind blew the smell more in his direction and, loosing sight of the town for a moment, he followed his senses over the fallen logs and a worn trail that almost appeared to be made by motorcycle tracks. The same kind that his brother's made.

She was standing with her back towards him, white hair sprouting out from every angle on her head in a messy but almost cute kind of way. Despite the heat, she was wearing a long, black overcoat with a rumpled scarf draped around her neck and black, fingerless gloves covering each hand. Bare fingers were delicately balancing what first looked to be a scraggily rolled cigarette, though upon closer inspection, Sam realized it was a joint.

At first he blamed this for sticky scent that was oozing in the air but walking a good deal closer, he realized the true source for the nauseating smell. A large, black pit-likely the remains of a large bonfire- with a small pile burning sticks in the center creating thick, greasy, black smoke. Sam felt his stomach turn but curiosity had gotten the better of him. He'd never seen wood burn so hot before, nor create such a sick fog.

Stepping closer, the girl remained oblivious to his approach, though every so often, would reach down and pluck a stick from a pile near her feet, tossing it almost carelessly into the fire. Flames engulfed the new wood, licking over the slick surface again and again until it became black and indistinguishable from the coals around it.

The process was repeated several more times, creating an even deeper cloud of smog and though his hand and sleeve were pressed hard against his mouth, desperately trying to clog the smell, a fit of coughing was working up his chest and Sam couldn't help but gasp and let a few of them go.

All too quickly, the girl turned to face him and Sam was instantly struck with the sight of those eyes. Wild and somewhat afraid, Sam had never seen eyes so dark or bloodshot before and the emptiness that glared almost curiously into his own gaze was enough to send a chill up his spine. There was something detached about her, an air of resolve that clung to her being like the hideous smell from the black smoke.

Sam didn't know what was wrong with her but his grandfather's warnings began to ring in his ears. Something about bad drug types hanging around the forest, shooting up and starting parties and fires that sometimes grew out of control. From what Sam could tell, this wasn't exactly the case.

Lowering his hand, he tried not to gag from the scent as his voice remained a croak lodged deep in his throat. She'd been wearing black eyeliner at some point that had been smeared across her cheeks from what looked to be crying. Though the scarf hid most of her neck, Sam could find traces of yellow, healing bruises and scabs along her throat.

While her eyes said nothing to him, they stared with the same curiosity he showed. Perhaps a bit of fear as well, but it was laced with something deeper. Something untouchable. It was the same look that Michael gave Sam when they wrestled together, that sense of invincibility. That no matter how hard Sam might try, he would never be able to beat or defeat him.

Remembering himself suddenly, Sam flashed a hesitant smile and gave a small wave with the same hand that had been covering his mouth.

Her eyebrows furrowed, a look of distrust spreading across her face. Watching as he took a step closer, she immediately took a step back, keeping the distance and hostility fresh between them. Sam stopped short and hesitated.

Being closer now, he could see the various beer cans and bottles lying around in shards within the dirt and rocks as well as pieces of unknown objects scattered around as though they'd been chucked in a frenzy. Pieces of clothing clung to the nearby bushes and shrubs. There were a pair of sneakers caught up in a tree and a fairly decent fringe jacket missing a sleeve and caked in mud beneath a fallen log.

At first glimpse, Sam guessed that it was nothing more than an out of control party like his grandfather had been describing. It wasn't until his eyes fell to the stick clutched tightly in the girl's hand did he realize that it also resembled something.

A bone.

Long enough to be the leg-bone of a human, Sam felt the chill once more, creeping along the backs of his ears and drizzling down his neck in an icy sheen that coated his spine. His eyes fell for the pile of sticks that were gathered at her feet and after a moment of inspection, he felt his stomach turn completely.

There was no holding back as the smell and the knowledge hit him all at once, causing the boy to double over and empty the entire contents of his stomach to the ground right before he felt that same bone come smashing down upon the back of his head, forcing his world into darkness.


	8. Lost Boy

"You little shits think you know what it's like… living like this…"

There was water dripping from somewhere overhead. Every so often, a small droplet of foul-smelling liquid would smack him in the forehead and cause those eyes to flutter, trying to work their way through the mind-splitting darkness that had surrounded him. Muscles were tense, strained. The more he tried to stretch, the more tight and unmovable he became. It was a mystery that made no sense to Sam until another cold smack of water hit him square between the eyes, forcing them open.

At first he thought he was dreaming.

Only in a horror comic does a person wake up to find themselves tied to a chair with duct tape stretched over their gaping mouth. His body immediately began to tremble from a combination of fear and the cold that surrounded him. Why was it so cold?

"WELL, SAY HELLO TO THE NIGHT YOU FUCKING LOST BOY!"

The voice tore through the air and sent a river of chills down his spine as his head snapped in the direction of it's decent.

There she was again. This time perched upon what appeared to be a large pile of rocks and other bits of debris that Sam couldn't identify. It was only after a moment of staring did it suddenly dawn upon him, he was in a cave! The large, steeping rock walls surrounded them on all sides and as his eyes adjusted to the light, he began to see the various objects and clutter that surrounded them.

A moldy couch, several burnt bins, some still with flames licking at the sides; a collection of surfboards, posters, knick-knacks of the strangest kind thrown here and there and giving Sam the distinct feeling that this place was far from uninhabited.

Eyes made their way back to his captor and he fought the throbbing in his skull from the sudden jolting of his heart as he stared in open fear. What did she want with him? Why had she brought him to this cave? Why did everything shitty have to happen to him and not Michael?

For a moment she stared back and her face, strangely quiet and somber, took on an almost serene appeal. She was more of Michael's age instead of his own. The hair was still pretty weird but her face was pretty in a kind of pale, psychotic way.

But as the nightmare comes over the dream, the calm suddenly sharpened and with all the ease of someone who had obvious practice at climbing the rocky slopes and edges of this cave before, she glided down and took her time walking over to his chair. His heart skipped with each step she took. The wildness in her eyes became intolerable and Sam had trouble staring her down. It was only when she was a foot away did she stop and that gaze bore even deeper as that voice spoke once more.

"Care to explain _what the fuck _you were doing out there?"

And in a single motion that was too fast for Sam to counter, she ripped off the duct tape that held his lips shut. The pain was sudden though in all honesty, it was more of the shock that had forced him to cry out. Wanting to reach up and make sure everything was still in tact, Sam couldn't tell if it was from the ripping tape or the naked hatred in her gaze that caused his face to burn.

He shook his head, "I… I wasn't… I was just walking and I smelled something-"

"So you smell someone trying to burn away the remains and you think to yourself 'hey, I should go check this out?' Are you fucking retarded?"

The burning grew worse, letting Sam know it was the latter of the two. The first girl to ever give him any attention and she was a goddamn psychopath.

Still, he couldn't help himself from pleading. "I-I didn't know what you were burning. Please, if you let me go I won't tell anyone, I swear! You can count on me, I promise! I won't… I…"

It was the smile that had stopped him. For a moment, he caught a hint of the girl and not the monster that held him captive. It continued, consuming her whole face as she broke out into a quiet laughter that seemed almost friendly even though it quietly mocked him at the same time. While fear penetrated his every orifice, Sam couldn't help but feel a sudden… stirring… between his legs.

Oh god… not now… please, not now.

Well, not that it mattered, His legs were already tied together and Sam didn't think he could clench his knees together any tighter than the ropes could. The scarlet continued on his face though she seemed oblivious to his sudden discomfort. The terror would likely be the same on his face, either way.

Finally, the chuckling died down but the smile, wrenching his groin and tearing into his gut with fear, remained.

"Kid, it's not me you should be worried about."

The look disappeared again as she turned and walked back to the pile of rubble, rummaging through the rocks and mess, searching for something that Sam's imagination could only give a hundred different scenarios as to how she was probably going to murder him. And the more his heart pumped, the more he felt the pulsing in his legs, the dire ache grow worse and for no reason at all!

Why was this happening? Did he really, honestly think this girl was cute? She was deranged and probably going to kill him!

Letting out a soft cry as he felt his legs to jelly and his stomach fall through a rotting pit that had formed below it, Sam watched in horror as she gathered a long, metal pipe and what looked to be a piece of scrap metal. Her eyes glared towards him as she held up the pipe and pointed it in his direction.

It was as though she was reading his mind.

"You think I'm bad, Sam? You haven't seen anything yet."

* * *

The first strike was the hardest… and the loudest. It sent a wave of pain even through my head though I could tell Sam suffered the most as he trembled and winced from the sound. Call it pay back for having a really shitty day, or suddenly filled with the fear that my time in this cave was growing steadily shorter as the summer months passed on and the winter famine would take hold. It's a weird instinct you get from hanging around the dead so much. Winter in itself means death for all plant life and every so often a ghoul will get the same feeling a leaf does in the last months of summer when the sun starts it's cold decent. I didn't know if I had a chance of surviving and as the world around me became more and more unstable, I couldn't help but reach out to David and the others. Bringing them live bait.

Not that I could have done much else… I mean… that's what I want to believe. I could have tried to explain what I was doing. That a vampire named Paul was communicating to me through my dreams, giving me directions to the very spot where the immortal slobs had apparently left a good portion of their kills still in tact. My job was to dump gas, lighter fluid or anything to scorch the last of the flesh and as much bone as I could before dumping them into the ocean where the sea water would eat them away quickly.

I knew the drill. I had done this type of 'clean up' before. Unfortunately it comes with the job description of being a vampire's personal servant. The lack of will to repress theirs as they speak to you silently through your veins. Morality becomes transparent, in fact, the word starts to haunt you and the less you think about it, the more you let them inside your mind and your very soul.

"ALRIGHT BOYS! RISE AND SHINE! UP, UP, UP, YOU CREEPY CORPSES, LET'S GO! WE HAVE A GUEST WHOSE JUST _DYING _TO MEET YOU!"

Okay, so I was playing it up a little bit. But for once, I had actually acted on instinct rather than morality. I got to taste the little shit's fear and something happened. It had… felt good. For so long I had been the victim of these pale bastards and finally, at least until the woke up, I was in control.

A wave of fear crashed over the kids face as he watched me, eyes squinting and body twitching with each hit to the metal. While part of this scene made me giggle inside, I wasn't actually doing it to torture the kid. During the day the dead sleep… like the dead. You really have to be obnoxious to get them to wake up.

"C'MON DAVID, DWAYNE, MARKO, PAUL! UP'AN'ADEM! WHAT AM I, IN A FUCKING GRAVEYARD HERE?"

The thought suddenly occurred to me and I got the joke. Laughing I looked over at Sam who, despite being very red in the face, was writhing in fear. He thought I was crazy. Of course he did.

"Well, I guess, technically, we are."

I'd seen that same look a hundred times before on the various, different faces that I'd tried to help in the past. Each time it had earned me a beating from David along with hellish nightmares for days on end. Scenes so cryptic and real that I had often woken up screaming, as well as half the neighborhood.

So this was it, no more helping. No more caring about another soul, especially one who resembled those punk asses I had run across on the boardwalk. The little freaks and their vampire comics. I would make sure they'd wished they'd never fucked with me.

I smacked the metal a few more times for good measure as I felt the winds pick up within the cave; cold gusts carrying the stench of death and old blood on the air. If you've ever been alone in the night and felt this wind, you'll know it because it makes all the hairs on your body stand straight up and fear like flecks of mica caught in your veins will seeping out with the sweat that drenches your body.

They were coming and nothing could be done now to stop their decent upon us both. Hopefully David wasn't in a pissy mood.


	9. Meet the Vampires

David couldn't believe what he was hearing. It wasn't even sunset and Nola had taken it upon herself to scream and pound what sounded like two metal pipes together in an attempt to wake them. She was far more stupid than he had ever imagined.

Opening his eyes with great effort, the vampire glanced around at his slumbering brothers. Paul seemed to be unaffected by the loud clashing while Marko had already begun to stir and Dwayne, already fully awake and furious, was pulling his boots on at the bottom of the cave. It was a bad idea to wake a vampire during the day. Their powers weren't as strong but enough remained to at least strangle the girl's neck. Sighing loudly, an elbow was jammed into Paul's stomach.

The vampire came alive with a gasp. "What the fuck-"

"Indeed Paul, what the fuck is Nola doing?" David countered before his youngest brother had time to explode.

Without waiting for a response from the stoner, the vampire swooped down to the ground and began to search for his own boots. Enough was enough. The girl was annoying at best and while it was sometimes handy having her around to clean up after their messes, she was proving more and more to be a royal pain in his ass.

Paul growled and swooped down after him. "Fuck David, I don't know what's gotten into her."

Whirling around to face his brother, David let his anger show. "Well it's about to stop. Permanently."

"Hey!-"

But he was already storming to the main portion of the cave.

Contrary to popular belief, a vampire of his status could encounter light indirectly, but when fully upon his flesh it would sear and smoke, bursting into a deadly orange and blue flame that would eat away his body at alarming pace if he didn't remove it. Dwayne could actually endure the sun for a few good minutes before he started to smolder while Marko and Paul were kept strictly hidden in the shadows. Indirect light caused Paul to feel sick and disoriented while Marko refused to be in it all together. Nonetheless, if Nola was setting a trap, she'd be sorely disappointed to find that he would be able to walk right out in her presence without so much as burn on him.

Reaching the main portion of the cave, with Paul stumbling at his heels as the stoner tried to pull up his ridiculously high riding boots (no one had ever explained to Paul that they were actually "horse" riding boots, not motorcycle), David fully expected his job to already be done for him. And indeed, the little bitch was already caught up in the arms of Dwayne who held her mercilessly by her neck. But something was wrong.

Though holding her, Dwayne's eyes were focused on something entirely different. A presence that was felt, shuddering and moaning in fear. Stepping out further, David caught sight of what was causing all the confusion.

Ironically, Paul caught on before the rest of them.

"Hey! Isn't that the twerp we were suppose to kidnap? Steven?"

David scoffed. "It's Sidney, Paul."

Though she was being held up by her throat with just enough support from Dwayne to keep her from choking out entirely, Nola had to speak up.

"It's Sam, retards," she rasped.

David shot a glare in her direction, but it was already too good to be true. The difficult part of the plan had already been handled for them by a less than capable human being, let alone a vampire. There was only one problem with the whole situation.

Turning around sharply, David caught the throat of his youngest brother and held him high up in the air. Unlike Nola, Paul had no need to breathe and it was only the threat of his esophagus being crushed did the fledgling actually submit to his brother's fast cruelty.

"What the fuck, David?" choked out as he was held up, high in the air.

Anger poured through his veins and being that it was still light out, he felt the sharpness of his emotions all the more as he stared into the unwilling, blue eyes of Paul. In many ways, he and Nola were just alike. Desperate troublemakers that had cost him many nights spent in the crypts of Max's estate, serving out unjust punishments for his young one's bad behavior and table manners. And while he always took his anger and revenge out on the one who'd made him suffer, it was almost hypocritical of him to do anything at all.

He'd raised his gang with all the rashness of a true rebel in his prime. He'd taught them to buck against all human figures of authority and anything that might relate them to their mortal pasts and fears. He'd forced them to shed blood, to receive blood, to share amongst one another as vampire siblings in their wicked hatred for all things that pertained to order, logic and law.

And then to beat them for disobeying his orders? It looked bad, he had to admit. That was why Paul's words had sunk deep, the other night when returning from their Master's with a faulty plan of seduction, kidnapping and more or less, increasing the size of their family. None of them had any say in this decision, of course, and David couldn't help but feel most stung that even his own protests were ignored.

They'd spent the better part of six hundred years with one another and Max seemed blind to his son's growing hatred.

Watching Paul squirm for a few moments, David spoke in a deep hiss. "You told her the plan, didn't you, Paul?"

He expected a look of guilt to come over the blonde rocker's face. Instead he was met by a painful stab of rage that caused the fledgling to kick and struggle all the more.

"You bastard! You albino fucking bastard!" spat out by Paul who was now in full fang.

David could feel Paul's lack of control but unfortunately, in the daylight, his own was starting to waver. Things were happening too quickly. Paul's struggles grew worse and worse until he was unable to hold onto the fledgling any longer.

Dropped hard on the ground, Paul wasted no time jumping back up to his feet with a look that gave away his readiness to destroy David right then and there. It was mutiny but the fledgling was tired of this sort of thing always happening to him. Being picked up, tossed around, picked on and beaten by his brothers-not ever night but close! That David should even think that he would have told Nola their secret plan was beyond insulting.

David held his ground as he stared sharply at Paul, daring him with every ounce of his will to rush forward and try to take him down. The sun was making them both crazy and old grudges only added to the fire that fed their fury.

"You honestly think I would be so stupid as to tell Nola our entire fucking plan?" Paul hissed, a deep growl in the back of his throat giving his words a terrifying complexity.

"Coming from a man who thought that trolls were stealing all of his medallions at night and scattering them across the cave, yes Paul, I do think you're capable of telling our entire plot to a lowly piece of filth that only wants to save her own skin."

Letting his voice sink down in to artic temperatures, David felt a sting rise from across the cave as Nola gasped and tried to shake her head.

"No… it wasn't like that… he… he was watching me…" she choked out.

Paul, on the other hand, let out a nasty snarl. "Goddamnit David! I would never tell her the fucking secret and someone was stealing my medallions! Just ask Dwayne!"

Saying his name aloud caused both vampires to hesitate and glance in the direction of their brother. Still deadly calm, still holding the pathetic human by her throat, Dwayne shifted almost uncomfortably for a moment, not wanting to be dragged into the middle of their fight.

Bloodshed between Paul and David was always entertaining but if one was unlucky enough to get caught in the middle of the two, the consequences could leave you sore for weeks. Glancing over at the kid, struggling someone against the duct tape that trapped him to the chair, Dwayne couldn't help but give a shrug.

"Honestly David, what's the harm at this point?" he asked, knowing that his response would be anything but expected.

With only a slight hesitation, he set the girl back on her feet and watched almost amused as she fell to her knees, coughing and gasping for air. Both David and Paul were stunned but Dwayne wasn't without his reason.

"Look David, whether or not Paul told her is irrelevant now. She has the brat tied to a chair, not coming up here with a squad car or a stake."

Despite her throat being bruised and seeping blood through open wounds, Nola managed to rise and shoot an angry, though pleading look towards David.

"I don't.. have any idea… what you guys are talking about. The fucking twerp was… watching me dispose of the bodies. So I brought him back to you as a snack," half spoken and half coughed out.

David wasn't convinced in the slightest.

"How do we know she isn't lying?" he asked.

"Dude! She isn't lying! I haven't said a word to her about anything!" Paul snapped.

It took a moment before both turned once more to look at their desert brother, knowing eyes glittering in the darkness as the silently egged him on. Again, it was an anomaly that wasn't usually addressed in the Hollywood glorification of vampirism. Each vampire was born with specific traits or talents that came naturally to their being. While David could manipulate a human's mind into seeing or believing what he wanted them to, he couldn't directly read them. That was Dwayne's gift. Being able to seep into a human's mind and read their thoughts as well as study their emotions was something vampire did quite often, causing him to be lost and silent most nights. Paul had a natural charm and ability to seduce a person, seemingly no matter how much they protested. It was something that often made David wonder if that was the reason why he put up with the blonde stoner. And lastly, Marko's ability which was rarely discussed amongst those in the gang as there was little to understand about it. Simply, Marko had the ability to make a human or even some vampires, go completely insane.

How he did it, no one, not even Max, quite knew. Whether it was showing them images, inducing fear and terror into their bloodstream or having a simple conversation, he could have a person clawing at their eyes and rebuking the name of their God in a matter of minutes. Once or twice the others had stumbled in on humans performing strange and horrifying tortures on themselves while the teen vamp sat in the backdrop, quietly writing down their reactions.

Even David had recoiled at the scene but no one bothered to question Marko on his journey of self-discovery and the extremes he could take his gift to. They had all done it with their own gifts.

Their stares were met by the dark-haired vampire and held firmly. It would have been too easy to simply agree to the task, not while David was backed into a corner by his youngest creation, leaving Dwayne to feel a tinge of embarrassment at his leader's lack of grit.

After a moment of letting his anger show, he sighed and turned back towards the girl. Recovering somewhat, she'd managed to pull herself to her feet and wrap what remained of a dirty, blood soaked scarf around her bruised and seeping neck. Disgust came over him. Paul was getting lazy and it was a shame. She didn't look half-bad.

Either way, it didn't stop him from taking hold of her once more, though this time it was around the shoulders, as though she were a loved one from the past.

"Hey, what-" she gasped and shuddered, struggling for a moment while he reached down to take hold of her face. There were two ways to tap into a human's mind. One was through the eyes and the other was through the veins. And while she may have betrayed them all, the fact still remained that she was Paul's property and to feed on her would give the fledgling rights over something personal of Dwayne's.

Their gazes met.

Terrified, green eyes set against pale, yellowish skin and white hair that was in a constant state of tangled dismay. Dwayne began to slip inside and instantly the world around him began to change as he read the thoughts of the thrall.


	10. Memories of a Stoner pt1

The first thing he heard was chanting. Breathless and frightened, the words had all strung together so that it took a moment to understand what she was saying.

"_I'mnotafraidtodie. I'mnotafraidtodie. I'mnotafraidtodie."_

Blood coated the air. All at once his senses were engorged with the smell of the sweet substance, virgin and terrified to the point of believing that she was truly entering the last few moments of her life. As the world grew less foggy and the memory came into full view, Dwayne realized that something was wrong. Normally when he entered a human's mind, he saw things from the third person perspective. Never interfering or becoming involved in any way. This time however, he felt himself get pulled directly into the memory. The cave around them disappeared and was replaced by brown carpeting, faintly smelling of mold, fried meat and something else the vampire couldn't identify. The rocky walls and ledges, posters and graffiti melted into tan drywall, a gray sofa, two burgundy lazy boys and a flickering bulb that couldn't seem to hold light for more than a few minutes at a time.

For the first time in years, the vampire let out a shudder of fear. Something was definitely wrong. He'd never entered a human's mind so completely as to be thrown directly into their memories of the past. The floor creaked beneath his weight and again, Dwayne couldn't help but feel the icy sting of fear in his heart. It was an emotion so repressed that he'd forgotten how real it came a situation seem. How suddenly it can strip one of their power and remind them of all their sins. But this…

It was unreal. How could he affect anything in her mind? Had her consciousness deteriorated to the point of allowing him access and the ability to change her thoughts? Or had he somehow discovered the secret on his own? While the latter brought him a sudden thrill of triumph, deeper down he knew it wasn't so easy as that. One didn't just spontaneously learn these things. They had to be taught by a vampire who knew the secret or was gifted naturally with the ability.

And the reason he knew this was for the simple fact… he had no idea how to escape.

The world was too real. His presence too sure of itself in its surroundings as he took a couple of noisy steps, wincing with each creak as he followed the sound of the chanting, the smell of blood.

One thing had not changed and for that he could only thank the Devil.

He was still a vampire.

"_I'mnotafraidtodieI'mnotafraidtodieI'mnotafraidtodie…."_

The voice was becoming hysterical as it cracked and broke every so often with sobs. The house in itself was seemingly small. A living room with a hallway that led to two bedrooms and a bathroom. All the while, blood seemed to coat its scent in everything he came upon and touched. It was in the carpet in footprints, the walls with finger smudges and nail bites that indicated some kind of struggle to walk. Droplets had formed in strange slick patterns that pooled in the cracks of the linoleum bathroom floor. And finally reaching the source, a third shudder tickled its way up the vampire's back.

Though this one wasn't from fear.

* * *

The water was red.

It was red because I couldn't stop the blood from leaving my body, no matter how cold or hot I made the water, testing both theories until I finally had succumbed to the fact that I was probably going to bleed to death and die this very night.

Everything had happened so quickly.

I was upstairs, flipping through basic cable whilst cursing my existence-the same thing I do every night-when he came through the door. There was blood on his face, leaking from his eyes and nose and ears, any orphic it could reach which was likely due to the enormous crack that was in his skull. My body shudder, falling in shock as I watched him fall to his knees.

"Dad!"

"Go, she's coming…." the words were gargled with blood but I already knew what he meant.

Mom.

She'd had a string of freak-outs and bad nights over the past few months. The doctors claimed she was psychotic, pleaded with my father to send her in as an in-patient at several different hospitals in the state. But the fact that she hadn't seriously injured anyone nor herself had given no one, not even my father probable cause to lock her away.

During these times, her eyes would get dark and unblinking. She would mumble sentences to you under her breath and have tea with invisible people that she claimed were watching each and every movement we made. My father would try to calm her. Talk her down from her delirium and I would help as best I could. But being fifteen and torn between loving and fearing my mother, I grasped to any scrap of positive attention I was fed from her.

And in the end, it had left me scarred.

She'd come through the doorway only moments after. My heart was beating wildly and my mind was racing for what I should have been doing. But fear has a funny way of paralyzing reason. Leaving a person stranded on an island within their mind where everything happens in slow motion for a few moments. At least until the pain begins to sink in.

She'd walked right up to me without hesitation. The blade was partially hidden in her hand though I managed to see a glint of silver shoot out moments before it struck my chest.

"_You little bitch…" _she hissed under her breath. _"How many of them know you're alive?"_

The words make as much sense to me now as they did to me then. My mind struggled to wrap itself around what it was hearing when the first puncture ripped through my clothes and my body. The knife was dull or… dull enough. Red images began to pass before my eyes. My mom and I taking walks, trying to cope with the way she saw the world as cluttered with these invisible monsters and unknowing souls. She'd had good days. And strangely, that's all I could remember as the blade peeled downwards, slicing open my chest, my stomach.

Have you ever heard the sound of towels being ripped in half?

My breath caught. I was choking and trying to breathe. Trying to hyperventilate so that maybe I could pass out and be spared the rest of her excursion on my flesh. Strangely however, she tore off of me the moment the cut passed over my naval.

"_I WANT TO KNOW HOW MANY OF YOU ARE IN HER!" _she wailed at the top of her lungs.

All at once, a shadow overtook her body and my father was on top of her, attempting to drag her down. She screamed in rage and attempted to throw him off, lunging again with the knife. The blade caught and unfortunately, the dullness of it wasn't enough to shield the tip from penetrating his throat. There was a gasp from deep in his body and the gurgles continued to grow deeper and more profane as the moments and blood drained away. Suddenly… there was deep sigh.

His body collapsed and drowned.

The wound began to burn as I clutched at my chest, trying to hold myself together and fearing to look down and see the damage. I had caught sight of bone and stomach fluid leaking out, causing me to retch and feel dizzy enough to pass out.

My father's sudden lack of moment seemed to snap my mother to her senses. All at once she was quiet, stoic, taking in the scene around her with practiced calm. The knife in her hands was dropped and before the world around me grew black, I could hear the sound of something heavy being dragged across the floor.

* * *

He felt her. In every sense of the word, he could feel this girl as she lie shivering in the tub though the water itself was hot. The flow of blood had turned the water completely red, masking her pale body just enough so that teasing peaks of her nipples and chest were given with every shuddering sigh. He could also see the wound, bright pink with red spilling out, indecipherable from water at this point. But he could smell it's freshness leaking from every pore in her body.

He'd visited scenes like this in his fantasies. Had even created some himself and left the others to wonder at his weird fetishes and feeding habits. Not like any of them could speak up-David with his need for torturing female companions, Paul and his pot-smoking, blood orgies and Marko… well, there were no words to describe what that one could do to the human body.

Dwayne considered himself the most sedate of all the boys in his midnight cravings, but this…

It was too good to be true and too horrifying not to be.

The chanting and sobs continued for a moment longer before the hairs on her body stood straight up and his presence was felt in the back of her mind.

Green eyes opened and glanced in his direction. They were glazed and fear-stricken, seemingly unable to take him in for a few good moments before she flinched in disbelief.

"_I'm not seeing this…are you associated with her?"_ her voice was hoarse from the chanting but unmistakable in it's delusion.

She was torn. So much blood had been lost it was hard to concentrate. Hard not to believe that what she was seeing was perhaps and illusion, brought on by death. She was literally going out of her mind.

"Her who?" Dwayne asked softly, stepping more fully toward the tub and causing her to shy away. A part of her didn't want to believe he was real for the simple fact that it was rather… embarrassing to be found by an extremely hot guy while you're naked and bleeding to death in a bathtub.

All this he could read from the forefront of her mind. It was so open, so hysterical with images that it couldn't seem to process that it had literally torn down the walls that would normally be blocking him out. Either that, or it was just another side-effect of being so deep inside her mind. Dwayne had to constantly remind himself that this wasn't real. What he was seeing was all inside of Nola… but honest to Christ. If the girl's past truly was like this, it was easy to see why she sought out the relief of drugs and Paul's mind-numbing company.

The question made her uneasy. The answer was simple… her mother. Blood was thicker than the water she sat dying in. She didn't know how to respond, how to describe anything that had taken place or the fact that they should have seen this coming a dozen times over.

Tears began to stream down. Clear little droplets of pain that made him ache inside to taste them. Tears were a delicacy amongst his kind and to either kiss or lick them away was done with the utmost pleasure in their suffering.

He drew closer, watching as her body trembled and pulled further away. Not that she had far to go before reaching the edge of the tub but with each frightened movement she revealed more and more of that deliciously young, wounded body.

Outwardly, Dwayne was no older than eighteen. Maybe nineteen at best. He honestly didn't remember what his human age had been for the simple fact that he had been a man far longer than the average teenager today. A boy had to grow up fast in his era and so it was that he held himself back just enough to stare into those frightened green eyes and soak in everything that the girl was.

Different than the Nola he knew now, there were definite similarities that still remained.

Striking, white hair that poured down her shoulders and over her face, stained with blood in some area's but still with it's dignity as it clung to her cheeks and lips in almost a sensual kind of way. She was definitely more full and healthy back then. The fullness of her body, the tan flesh contrasting so brilliantly with the blood was something Dwayne couldn't take his eyes away from. She had been human until this night.

Human until the knife had made it's first puncture into her chest and ultimately, her soul.

"_L-look, you better go… she'll be back in, any moment now," _she whispered, like they were sharing a secret.

Dwayne stared more intently into her eyes, reading every feeling, every thought that happened behind those curtains of emerald green. Those hadn't changed either. Fearful, untrusting, a person trying to avoid reality in any way possible at this point, even if it means talking with strange, pale men that happened to enter your bathroom.

"Your mother?" he whispered back, reaching out and ignoring her protests as he took her face in his hands. There was no breaking free from his grasp, no tearing her eyes away from his own, stark, beautifully cruel gaze.

Her lips were pale and trembling. They were almost blue from the chill that had taken over her body, the lack of blood to keep her warm. More tears leaked down, wetting his hands with their stinging warmth, as her voice cracked through the air.

"_She's out back… burying him in the yard."_


	11. Memories of a Stoner pt2

"Who?"

His voice was soft but low, almost guttural as he stared at the blood flowing out of her body and mixing with the already stained water. There seemed to be no stop to the flow and within a matter of minutes, he was sure Nola would be dead. But… how could this be? They were reliving one of her memories and obviously, she had somehow survived. Leaning in closer, a hand reached out and gently cupped the girl's chin.

"Who is she burying?"

Her body flinched as he reached for her and recoiled somewhat into the depths of the red water. The distance in her eyes had grown and Dwayne knew he was losing her. Her skin was almost as cold as his was.

"_My… my father…"_she choked out_. "She… she made me watch… as she cut him into pieces. Now she's out in the back yard… burying them."_

Seconds went by. Dwayne had no idea what to say. The knowledge hit him like a physical force and now he understood it. He understood why Nola spent time with Paul, getting high every chance that she could simply to block out the images that plagued her every waking moment. Even watching the boys feed and helping in their victims' disposal was a release for her; anything to take the image of her mother hacking up her father out of her mind.

It all made sense in a strange sort of way, but if this was what had really happened… then how did she escape?

Her chin was released and a hand was brought up to brush the red-stained lock from her face. She really was a pretty girl when you got down to it and maybe it was because she had cut off her hair or spent all her time with Paul, but it was the first time that Dwayne truly saw what the other vampire had.

A willing and very pretty thrall.

Their eyes locked; her gaze uncertain as she stared openly, confused and naked in her emotions, as it pierced his own, dominating stare. Within moments, she was in a trance and Dwayne could feel the heat rising as the hunger inside of him grew to unbearable proportions. Blood was rich and thick in the air. The wound in her chest was split open, allowing him to see pieces of bone and parts intestine that threatened to come out. Even if she wasn't attached to Paul, it would be a shame to lose her like this.

Taking off his jacket and setting it aside, Dwayne reached down into the red waters and pulled the girl up as much as possible. There was no struggling at this point, even if she hadn't been locked in his predatory mind. The water and blood gushed upwards as she rose willingly to meet his fangs.

Instead of taking her by tradition, however, Dwayne held his fangs back and began to drink the blood directly from the wound.

Her body shuddered at the first touch of his lips though it wasn't from the cold… he could feel it inside of her. The thrill of death growing in her mind as though she felt the blood moving quicker and quicker out of her body. His lips dipped lower along her chest, causing soft gasps and the exhilaration to rise even higher peaks of desperate wanting.

She was untouched… at least in this memory. She'd never tasted the vampire's kiss and therefore, she was Dwayne's. Until the moment of death and forever afterwards.

* * *

"DUDE, WHAT THE FUCK?"

The jolt from Paul was so sudden and fast that it snapped him immediately out of his trance and brought both of them back to the cave. The fang marks were fresh on her neck and blood dripped guiltily from his mouth. He had bit her?

Paul was enraged. Fangs were bared as he rushed forward and, shoving Nola out of the way, he took his brother head on. In the vampire world, biting another's thrall is more or less stealing. And doing it in plain sight of one's brother… well, it was like stealing with a slap to the face and a poisoned cherry on top. Back arched while fangs gleamed in the fading light of the sun, Paul leapt for his brother's own neck, determined to get back what belonged to him.

His fangs never hit their mark. Without hesitation, the vampire jumped into the air and allowed Paul to overshoot him. He had to be in the sun to do such and the immediate smell of burning hit the air. Dwayne could last for a few minutes in the light without immediately bursting into flames but it was a few minutes that had to be planned carefully. Hence, with a sudden drop, he would land directly down upon his feral brother and pin him to the floor.

Forcing the young one's hands to the ground, Dwayne let loose a low growl as he stared into Paul's eyes.

"You fucking asshole," growled out by Paul as he struggled again and again to back up and attack. It was everything Dwayne could do to keep him down.

"Goddamnit, Paul! I didn't mean to!" he growled back but looking up and over at Nola, he could help but flinch. Her neck was soaked in blood. And there was something else… something… not right.

"What the fuck-didn't _mean _to? You looked pretty damn sure of yourself just a few fucking minutes ago when you had my girl all under your fangs!" Paul spat back.

From across the cave, a sudden heat rushed through Nola. Blood still seeped from her wounds and the look on her face was a cross between flattery and fear. It was one of the few times Paul referred to her as "girl" rather than "fang banger."

Still, there was something there that Dwayne couldn't wrap his mind around. Something was different, yet it was the same. That was when realized… her hair!

It was like the hair in her memory. Long and white with red-soaked tips. In fact, it looked even longer than it had in the dream, meaning that some time had been spent growing it.

But how could this be?

"Wow, you two wanna get a room?"

The voice was ice cold but filled with a dark mirth as Marko stepped out of the shadows and came upon the scene. Admittedly, it was a rather comical sight. Dwayne on top of Paul, holding his wrists to the floor while Nola held her bleeding neck and Sam sat across the room, imprisoned in duct tape and watching with wide, nearly hysterical eyes. David paced the back of the cave, watching Paul and Dwayne fight but doing nothing to get in their way or stop them. It wasn't his style and further more, if it meant getting Paul away from attacking him for a couple of moments, then so be it.

Let them tear each other to shreds.

"Paul, listen to me," Dwayne tried again, making his voice lower than so that the young one had to concentrate on his words. "I didn't mean to bite her… something… happened. I don't even know how to explain it but when I do, you'll be the first to know."

"Oh yea righ-" choked out before Paul was struck with a sudden burst of searing power.

"Of course.. If you want to continue to fight me…" As he spoke, Dwayne let the ripples travel up and down the vampire's spine, causing it to arch as the pain increased nearly a hundred fold.


	12. Memories of a Stoner pt3

The sun had begun to fall beneath the horizon and as it did so, the fledgling began to grow more powerful and more pissed off. He'd been a vampire for a few good decades now and all the cards were out on the table, all bets settled. David had bet he'd be caught by the sun. Marko that he'd forget about the holy water thing and drunkenly try to enter a church and baptize himself.

Dwayne had bet he'd be torn to shreds pissing one of them off. And so far, he was the closest to being right.

They'd sat there, the elder vampire holding down his punkass brother in a submission hold that had lasted until t he sun began to set. With rage set afresh, Paul had fought with new vengeance and violence. Tearing with claws, fangs -anything he had left at this point, forcing Dwayne off of his body.

David, sitting off towards the back and studying an increasingly hysterical Sam, suddenly stood poised to intervene as Paul rose to his feet. The fledgling looked ready to lash out at anything that might stand a chance of getting close to him. Though fortunately for them all, Nola was the closest to the pair.

It wasn't that David hated the human... she'd provided her fair share of entertainment and service and to be honest, she was far better than most of the trash that Paul littered the cave with-and coming from David, this could mean a great deal of respect, laced in poison. She was by far, the one he liked the most and the one that had lasted the longest under Paul's grueling care.

That, however, was likely to change. Rising to his feet, the fledgling stood prone to rush Dwayne. Pain was etched with anger and reading the forefront of his brother's mind, David winced at realizing his arm and shoulder had been severely cracked under Dwayne's care. Already, they began to knit themselves back together, but the point in Paul's mind was very clear.

Revenge.

Against Dwayne, against David, Marko even… the little fuck stood there with nothing to say but smartass remarks.

Then again…

Hateful, blue eyes turned towards Nola, still squeezing the blood from her neck and scarf. It was destined to happen, as it was every time the boy had a toy. Vampires were cold, jealous creatures and the thought of Dwayne's fangs biting into his thrall were enough to send Paul spiraling. He wanted someone to blame and Nola was an easy target.

Not to mention, something seemed rather… different about her. Paul couldn't say exactly what but the idea made him all the more furious. If she had changed something without him knowing it was like fucking with him!

Stepping past Dwayne and towards the girl, murderous gaze caused her to freeze for those precious moments she might have used to escape. David did nothing but watch. It wasn't his place to intervene, not when it came to humans. Marko did likewise, smiling with satisfaction at having sufficiently added fuel to the fire that had been steadily growing in Paul's brain.

The only one who seemed the least bit affected was Dwayne. Standing off to the side, he watched as Paul stepped up to his thrall and in one fierce strike, had her sprawling like a ragdoll to the floor. He was going to kill her, that much was clear. And while a part of him knew that this was within Paul's every right as her Master, he couldn't let it happen.

At least, not until he had understood what had happened and how it could have affected the future in such a seemingly unimportant way. Though, truth be told there was something else that drove him. Something far more carnal in its need.

He'd tasted her blood, damnit! It wasn't something so easily forgotten.

Rushing forward, he came between Nola and Paul and in a single swoop, she was gone.

* * *

What… the fuck…again?

He'd seen red. All around him the world had been glorified in that glowing color as he came upon his willing thrall, watching her tremble and cower beneath his shadow. It was the rising thrill of power he felt coursing through his veins, the thirst that came upon him each and every night and had to be slaked and satisfied. He'd felt her heartbeat, her rising fear and the knowledge t hat she was going to die producing such a fantastic smell in the air.

Humans could be so delicious sometimes.

And then… just like that, she was gone. And so was Dwayne.

The setting sun, once below the horizon, had little to no affect on the desert vampire and as such, he was able to get away Scott-fucking-free for the precious few minutes before night fully took over.

Paul began to tremble with true, unmasked rage. From the back of the cave, he could hear David shuffling uncomfortably, moving closer towards him lest the fledgling do something extremely rash.

Oh.. why the fuck not?

"She was mine.."

"I know Paul."

"NO, DAVID, SHE WAS MINE! -MY FUCKING PROPERTY. I HAD EVERY RIGHT-"

"I KNOW PAUL."

A shiver of power passed between them; a silent promise made by his older brother that Dwayne would suffer and Paul would get back what was rightfully his. It was enough to throw the fledgling off balance for a few moments before he came back to a more… normal… stature.

Staring sheepishly for a moment, he couldn't control those smoldering blue eyes as they came to rest upon Sam.

"Hey David… could I.. you know? Since mine is gone and all…?"


End file.
